by I A Thompson
“And we’re strategically located between the southwestern border and the eastern seaboard,” DEA agent Serena Powell explained. “The perfect corridor for transshipping drugs and money east and west. Now, add to it the casinos along the way, and you have a sweet money laundering machine smack in the middle of your route.”
“What’s awesome for us,” Brad Manning, the detective from Santa Rosa county, said excitedly. “Is that we have a state-of-the-art investigative support center at our disposal. It’s located in Metairie and coordinates all our funded initiatives. It’s staffed by DEA analysts who collect and distribute important information to all of us, including the annual threat assessment for our region.”
“Would it be possible to get a digital copy of the latest report?” Zach asked.
“The 2018 report hasn’t been released yet,” Serena responded. “We’ll have to check with our intelligence director to ensure he’s okay with us giving you an unapproved version, but the 2017 version shouldn’t be a problem.”
“That would be great, thanks!” Zach jotted down notes on his tablet. “What other centralized resources do you have available?”
“There is the FBI led Joint Drug Intelligence Group in Mobile and a 24/7 Watch Center in Gulfport. That one provides real-time law enforcement intel to all our initiatives and designated law enforcement officers across our affiliated states as well as post-seizure analysis and reporting,” Nick said.
Regina couldn’t help herself; the speed of Zach’s interview style was boring her to tears. Most of what he had gotten so far, she could find on the internet in less than thirty minutes. “What would you say is the biggest improvement on how you all used to do business and what are the results for Northwest Florida so far?”
Nick smiled at her. “Well, we’ve gotten some specialized training with regards to the most significant drug threats in the area and the strategy to combat them. We have been able to tap into resources from Mississippi and Louisiana earlier this year that would have otherwise been unavailable to us. There is definitely a lot more synchronization and synergy now.”
“I’d say, the first big success was about two months ago, when we were able to take out a meth lab cooperative operating on both sides of State Line Road near Flomaton,” Serena added. “There were fifteen labs in total, seven in Florida and eight in Alabama, all with unobstructed access to I-65 and the markets in Montgomery and Mobile and beyond.”
“How much meth?” Zach interrupted, refusing to let Regina take over.
“Just shy of a hundred pounds with a street value of about four and a half million dollars, not your usual suspects either. The criminals in this case were a bunch of ladies who knew each other from church and ended up deciding that this was how they wanted to fund their children’s college education.” Nick got up and got another bagel. “It’s the age-old story of people stuck in dead-end jobs, desperately looking for ways to get ahead. Once they successfully cooked the first batch and sold it, they expanded their operation rather rapidly. A year from now, they would have cranked out ten times the amount we busted them with.”
“How did you find out about them?” Zach asked.
“The Gulfport Watch Center alerted the Mobile and Pensacola Operations Centers after a security guard at the Belle Isle casino in Biloxi notified the local police about two women who exchanged an unusually large amount of chips for cash,” Nick answered.
Regina’s curiosity piped up. “What’s so weird about that? My aunt Bev goes there all the time and it’s not unusual for her to come home with lots of cash. Although in her case, it’s mostly change; she loves those slot machines.”
“Yeah, in this case, there wasn’t any gambling going on,” Serena filled in the blanks. “The security guard saw them when they arrived. They went straight to the spa, stayed two hours getting the works, came out and went to cash out. You must admit, that’s a bit strange. The guard’s first thought was prostitution, but the cashier told him they had exchanged chips worth twenty thousand dollars. That doesn’t even closely resemble the going rate for hookers. So, he drew the conclusion that they must have been dealing. The analysts in the Watch Center went to work and got us a lead on our drug runners. We observed them for a little while and started putting two and two together. The rest is history. It was definitely a good one for morale.”
Zach checked his watch. “I think we had a great start this morning. We certainly don’t want to impose on you all, but do you think it would be possible to get a tour of your most active areas at some point over the next few days? I’d like to add some context and possibly some pictures.”
“You can come with me,” Nick said. “I’m heading over to Kendall Arms, a local drug dealing hotbed, to talk to one of my informants. Just do me a favor and stay in your car until I have a chance to tell her that you’re not a threat.”
12
“You have got to be kidding me! Ten-foot walls?” Zach gasped, when they got to the apartment complex on Kendall Circle. “I thought Compton was bad, but this is bad on a different level. Who would come up with something stupid like that?”
Seeing the rundown complex reminded Regina how sheltered her own upbringing had been. She didn’t know about the existence of places like Kendall Arms until she and her friends were old enough to drive and stumbled on places such as this. “You should have seen it a few years ago; it was even worse, with spiraling razor wire on top of the wall. My mom told me that some of the county commissioners finally had enough and started a campaign to get the wire removed. Can you imagine being a kid, growing up in a compound like that? I was told the wall was built during the Reagan presidency; Pensacola’s very own take on the war on drugs.”
“And much to their surprise, building a wall around the problem didn’t solve anything, huh?” Zach asked.
“That’s right. There was a boy in my history class in high school whose family had lived in Kendall Arms when he was in kindergarten. I asked him what it was like to live there and he told me that he was beaten up a lot, and his older sisters were always in trouble with their dad for hanging around with the Miami Boys, the resident gang of thugs. Not much has changed since then, except nowadays the wanna-be hotshots proudly call themselves The Kendall Gang or TKG for short.” Regina pointed at a TKG graffiti sprayed on the side of one of the apartment buildings.
Ahead of them, Nick pulled into the parking lot in front of a building with a capital D above the staircase, leading to the second story apartments. As instructed, Regina and Zach stayed in their car, while Nick walked up the stairs and disappeared. Regina felt her adrenalin levels rise as curiosity and fear formed into a knot in her stomach. Despite having Zach by her side and sitting safely in their car, she felt exposed and vulnerable, certain that watchful eyes behind curtains and blinds were following their every move.
Through the windshield, Zach snapped pictures of a group of youngsters hanging around the staircase in front of building G on the other side of a grassy area that was roughly the size of a soccer field. Some held beer cans while a few were smoking. An invisible stereo was blasting N.W.A.’s ‘Fuck the Police’. Almost in slow motion, a tall guy rose from the stairs and started walking across the grass towards their car.
“Shit,” Zach mumbled under his breath. When the tall guy knocked on the driver side window, he rolled the window down an inch. “Yes, can I help you?”
“You can start with explaining why you’re taking pictures. You guys cops?” The guy exposed a row of gold clad teeth as he spoke, his demeanor relaxed and confident.
“No, no,” Zach waived his hands and held up the press credentials he had hanging around his neck on a lanyard imprinted with small repeating ‘Time Magazine’ emblems. “No cops. I’m a journalist with ‘Time Magazine’.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re taking pictures. Is she a cop?” The guy pointed at Regina.
Zach shook his head. “That’s my girlfriend, Regina. She’s from Pensacola and told me about this place.” He ro
lled the window all the way down and stuck his hand out. “I’m Zach. I’m writing an article about the changing face of subsidized housing in America and when I heard about the wall around this place and the razor wire, I had to see it for myself.” He pulled his hand back into the car awkwardly when he realized the guy wouldn’t shake it.
“Yeah, that’s some messed up shit.” The guy nodded. “Treating us like animals and then they wonder why we’re mad as hell. Taking the wire down is just cosmetics, we’re still being treated like second hand citizens, and once you’re in the system, they’ll always knock on your door first.”
“Can you give me an example?” Zach grabbed his notebook from the backseat. “And I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“It’s Jamal, but my friends call me Jay-Jay. Yeah, I can tell you from personal experience. When I was fifteen, I got busted with an ounce of weed, after that every time something went down in the neighborhood, I got arrested. One time straight from the dinner table; my mom was livid. We’re being profiled, stereotyped and discriminated against. Nobody wants to give us a job. They’re literally forcing us into a life of crime.”
“Do you have any thoughts on what could be done to improve the situation?” Regina asked.
Jamal glared at her. “Yeah, the hypocrites in the county government could give us equal opportunities for starters. I bet you didn’t have to go to a failing school with constant harassment.”
Regina took a deep breath. She had heard the same story with slight variations more often than she could count. It was part of the fabric of her hometown. There were the ones who shaped their own destiny and there were the others who blamed everyone around them for their perceived misfortune.
“The reason I’m asking is that I work for UNICEF now and I’m always interested in new ideas we can turn into programs, even here in the U.S.”
“You should speak to speak to my grandmother, Ella Jackson. She’s the smartest woman I know; she’ll tell you anything you want to know. She stays over there, in apartment D23.”
“Thanks, Jamal,” Zach took over again. “We appreciate you speaking with us and pointing us to your grandma. We’ll go and see if she has a moment to speak with us.”
“No problem, man. Maybe something good will come out of it.” Jamal shrugged his shoulders and walked back over to his friends.
“Well, shall we see what Miss Jackson has to say?” Zach asked, looking at Regina.
“I don’t know. Shouldn’t we wait until Nick comes back? If we disappear on him, he may call for backup and blow our cover.”
“Good point, but if we’re sitting here twiddling our thumbs, our new friend over there will know something is off.”
“Let’s do it. Nick is up there on the second floor as well. If we talk to her in the doorway, he’ll be able to see us when he gets done with his visit.”
Zach rolled his window up and they got out of the car. The cool morning air had made room for a muggy mid-afternoon warmth, a sweet reminder that summer wasn’t far away; just around the corner in the South. They walked up the stairs and to the back of the building; D23 was on the left.
Zach knocked lightly on the door, and they waited patiently. Regina moved her purse to her left shoulder, straightened her skirt and smoothed down her hair, an instinctive behavior resulting from endless hours of etiquette lessons she had attended as a child.
The door opened and a large black woman in her fifties appeared. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“Miss Jackson?” Zach asked.
“Yes. And you are?”
“Zach Jones, from ‘Time Magazine’. This is my girlfriend, Regina Livingston. Your grandson, Jamal, suggested we speak with you. I’m writing an article about the changing face of subsidized housing in the U.S. and he thought you would be able to answer some of my questions.”
“Oh, I do have some things to say, that’s for sure. Unfortunately, you’ll have to wait a few minutes, I’m just finishing up something, but please come in and have a seat, I won’t be long.” She stepped aside and let Zach and Regina walk into her living room. “Can I offer you something to drink? I have coffee, water and coke.”
“Water would be fine,” Regina said, and Zach agreed.
“I’ll be right back,” Ella turned around and walked towards a closed door. When she opened it, Zach and Regina could see an outdated, but squeaky-clean kitchen.
And there, leaning against the stove, was Nick Wiley.
13
Nick’s composure was impeccable, showing no signs of surprise at Regina’s and Zach’s unexpected appearance and no indication that he had met either one of them before. He followed Ella when she returned to the living room, carrying a tray with three glasses of ice water. She put it down on the coffee table centered between two well-worn but comfortable looking couches.
“Miss Ella,” he said. “It was, as always, a pleasure speaking with you. I see you have visitors and I certainly don’t want to impose. I will see you next week.”
“Sure, son, that will be fine.” Ella patted his right cheek. “Give your mama my best. Tell her to come visit one of these days. I haven’t seen her in years.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will.” Nick bid his farewell and left the apartment.
“Please, sit down, don’t be shy.” Ella repeated, since Zach and Regina were still standing. “And tell me again, what you’re writing about.” She studied her visitors while Zach repeated his journalist cover story, nodding after he finished. Her eyes however, were firmly trained on Regina. “Tell me, child,” she said. “Why do you look so familiar? You remind me of someone, I just can’t pinpoint who.”
Regina smiled. “You may have seen my dad’s commercials, Grover Livingston. He has an accounting firm here in town and I grew up in Pensacola.”
Ella clapped her hands together. “My, my, isn’t it a small world. You’re Eleanor Carrington’s daughter, aren’t you?” She didn’t wait for a response. “You’re the spitting image of your mother, same green eyes, same pretty face.”
“You know my mom?” Regina was surprised. The two women lived in such completely different worlds that it seemed impossible that they would have ever crossed paths.
“Yes, dear.” Ella’s face took on an expression of deep sadness as she pointed to her surroundings. “I did not always live like this. Your grandfather and my father bought some of the first homes in the Lake Charlene subdivision. Your mama and I grew up just a few houses from each other. It wasn’t until we were of high school age that our lives took dramatically different turns.”
“What happened?” Regina sat at the corner of her seat, while Zach jutted down notes.
“It was the beginning of our Junior year. My parents had gone out to eat while I watched my little brother and sister. Around midnight I received a call to say there had been a terrible accident on Bayfront Parkway. Some teenagers from Gulf Breeze were racing their muscle cars when one lost control of his vehicle, crossed the median and hit my parent’s car head on. There were no survivors.” She paused and wiped away a stray tear that had fallen from her eye. “The next few months were a blur. We had to move out of our home and were placed in foster care. My brother and sister got lucky and were placed together in a family that took excellent care of them; they even adopted them later. I on the other hand didn’t fare quite as well. My foster family kept me until I aged out of the system at 18, then they kicked me out and I was on my own.”
She got up and walked to the window, looking out as though it was a cinema screen replaying the memories that she was speaking about. “I didn’t have any life skills to speak of and no clue what to do next. Social Services placed me in this apartment, and I started working part time at the gas station down the road. I was lonely and looked for companionship in all the wrong places; it wasn’t long before I fell pregnant and had a little girl of my own, Gabrielle. Kendall Arms is definitely not where I had imagined raising kids, but it was all I could afford, and I did the best that I could. I was bless
ed that I had been able to finish high school, so at least I could help my baby with her studies. Unfortunately, I couldn’t protect her from the environment she had to grow up in. The Kendall Arms kids were social outcasts and tended to stick to each other, though if you ask me, they stuck together a little too much sometimes. My Gabby got pregnant when she was just sixteen and gave birth to my grandson, Jay-Jay, who you met downstairs.”
She turned around, came back to the couch and sat down again, turning her attention to Zach. “You’re not going to use my name when you write your article, right?”
Zach shook his head. “No ma’am. You have nothing to worry about. All of our sources are kept confidential.”
She seemed satisfied. “Good. Well then, let me tell you about the gentleman who left when you all came in. He’s a police officer and a pretty good one at that. He visits me once a week and I tell him about the things that happen around here, which is the best I can do in my situation, though I hope it makes a small difference someday for the children growing up here. Things were bad when Gabby was little, but they seem to be going downhill faster these days.”
Zach raised the stylus he was taking notes with. “Ma’am, would it be possible to speak with your daughter as well, to get her view point?”
“Honey, I wish we all could speak with her.” Ella shook her head slowly. “My Gabby has been dead for going on fifteen years now; died from a drug overdose. She just couldn’t stay away from that stuff, no matter how many times I tried to get her to go to therapy. She never even admitted that she was doing drugs, but a mother’s intuition is never wrong, and before I knew it, she was gone. When they found her, the needle she had used was still stuck in her arm. The police said it was a tainted batch of heroin and that she didn’t have a chance. I was heartbroken, but so grateful that she lived on within little Jay-Jay; he was such a good child, so smart and caring, a complete joy.